


Among My Frivolous Thoughts

by sparxwrites



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:23:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2057217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's cold second-rate pizza on her bedside table, congealed overnight from yesterday's shore leave, York pressed tight against her side, and a battered old radio balanced on her bed picking up some local station from the planet below them. Carolina's sure there's been a time in her life when she was happier than she is in this moment, but for the life of her she can't remember it.</p><p>(Or: a moment in time where York and Carolina are happy.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Among My Frivolous Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Please, _please_ listen to "[Angels](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_d4Kj2u4VN8)" by Owl City while reading this, because a) it's the song they're dancing to, and b) it's somehow become my Yorkalina song, because I share York's terrible taste in music and because apparently there's no logic to the songs I associate with my ships.

There's cold second-rate pizza on her bedside table, congealed overnight from yesterday's shore leave, York pressed tight against her side, and a battered old radio balanced on her bed picking up some local station from the planet below them. Carolina's sure there's been a time in her life when she was happier than she is in this moment, but for the life of her she can't remember it.

The song on the radio is terrible, something twenty-first century, the kind of trashy electro-pop that isn't played anywhere other than backwater colonies that can't get their hands on anything better. She's about to reach over to try and change the channel when, suddenly, York's on his feet. He grins at her, dragging her up with him, spinning her around in a wide circle and tugging her close.

"I know this song," he says, wide-eyed and excited and so breathtakingly beautiful she has the sudden urge to kiss the expression right off his face. Like she can somehow drink in the easy joy that so obviously radiates from him. "It's a _great_ song. One of my favourites."

She's not sure whether he's joking or not. It can be hard to tell with York sometimes. _She's_ never heard the song before in her life, thinks it's kind of crap in all honesty, but there’s no accounting for taste.

“It’s awful,” she says, and he pouts, cradles her close in his arms and sways from side to side.  
“ _I_ like it,” he says, bends in to kiss her nose. She shakes her head, pushes him away with an expression of mock disgust that leaves him pouting even harder.

Despite his poor taste and the frankly ridiculous expression he’s pulling, she lets him pull her forward into his again, grab her hands and spin her out in a whirl that leaves her dizzy. “Dance with me?” he asks with a bow, while her head’s still reeling, and she has a feeling that if it were possible to find roses in space then he’d have one between his teeth.

Really, with an invitation like that, how can she refuse?

They dance, breathless and a little clumsy and with distinctly poor rhythm, until somewhere around the second chorus York trips – still not used to his reduced peripheral vision, the bandages across half his face a sharp reminder of the new scars he'll wear when they're removed - and sends them both slamming into a wall.

York trips over his own feet, Carolina trips over hers _and_ York’s, and they both go down like a sack of bricks. It’s not terribly graceful or poised, or remotely indicative of the fact they’re both highly trained military operatives – but that’s the last thing on either of their minds right now, Carolina pressed awkwardly between the wall and the solid weight of York on top of her.

“Well,” he says, after a moment. “That was successful.”

She grins, laughs, presses her face into his shoulder for a second as she tries to catch her breath. “York,” she says, through the giggles. “York, you _idiot_.” She exhales slowly against the side of his neck, feels him shudder beneath her even through his own laughter, and she leans up to kiss him-

The figures disappear.

"…Would you like me to play the recording again, Agent Carolina?" asks Epsilon - for once, quiet and professional instead of aggressively abrasive. "Or I can try and find another one. Delta's got quite the collection of stuff he remembers from York."

Carolina stops with her hand outstretched – reaching for the holographic figures that had been spinning across her wall just seconds ago – and then snatches her fingers back. "No," she says, pulling herself together, pushing the grief back down as she always does – because she is a soldier before all else. "No, Epsilon, I'm- thank you. That's enough. We need to move out now, anyway."

He winces at the name; he’s still trying to convince her to call him Church. She can’t bring herself to do that, though. "You sure?" he asks, quietly. His projection flickers as he stands up from where he'd been perched on her discarded helmet, and he stretches. "You were supposed to be resting, you've not even slept-"

"I _said_ , we're moving out, Epsilon." She bends down to pick up her helmet, watches him fall off it and break into scattered sparks of light as he hits the ground. Jamming the helmet back on her head and checking the pressure seals that lock it into place, she ignores the way he reforms on her shoulder for just long enough to give her the finger and then disappears again.

He's silent after that, sulking somewhere in the recesses of her neural implants and leaving her to her own thoughts. Not that she minds. She's used to the silence.

When the music begins to filter through her radio, quiet and a little staticky – a familiarly trashy pop song that she just can't _stand_ – she's not sure whether he's trying to be cruel or kind.


End file.
